


High Strung

by drxpdead



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Bed Grinding, Coming In Pants, Fingering, Kinky thoughts, Masturbation, NO PHAN, Other, Public Masturbation, Smut Fest, needy!dan, pillow humping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-15
Updated: 2016-06-15
Packaged: 2018-07-15 04:18:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7207556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drxpdead/pseuds/drxpdead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dan hasn't been laid in weeks and is resorting to getting off whenever, and however, he can.</p>
            </blockquote>





	High Strung

Desperate times call for desperate measures; that was the saying, right? The saying that people used to explain all the stupid or crazy things they did; a justification. 

That was his excuse for grinding against his pillow at ten in the morning, breathless moans passing his lips with every movement. 

This wasn't him, he wasn't usually so desperate and wanton, but he'd been strung out lately, stressed and busy with too many things at once, and this was the first time he'd been alone in two weeks. Not for long, really, Phil had only left to the store to get some more milk, but it was enough. He was already close. 

"Fuck," he gasped against the palm of his hand, a lousy attempt to keep quiet in case Phil made an early return. His hips stuttered in his rhythm, stomach clenching, but he kept moving, chasing his release with everything he had. His hand moved from his mouth to his hair, clutching the strands almost painfully tight but it made his toes curl. Okay, that was kind of hot. He should try that sometime, let somebody pull his hair as they fucked him, force his head back and--

Oh god, the thought alone almost had him coming, and he choked out a high pitched moan. Fuck, slow down, not this fast. 

The friction of the pillow against his swollen cock was close to being too much, too much pressure and heat, and he was practically leaking all over the fabric, but he was too far gone to really care. 

Imagine someone seeing him like this; shamelessly rutting against a goddamn pillow, whining and gripping the sheets like it was the best thing in the world. Hell, right now, it was. 

"Oh shit, yes," Dan bit out, fucking against pillow faster now, letting out dirty little 'ah's as his orgasm drew closer and closer. He was biting the sheets, muffling the sounds he was making uselessly, but oh god he was coming, the warmth in his lower stomach giving away into that white noise of pleasure. 

And not a second too late either; Dan heard the door slam shut, and he'd barely caught his breath before stripping the stained pillowcase from the pillow and throwing into a corner of his room. He'd have to deal with it later. 

***

Two weeks later and he's sprawled across the couch in the lounge, two fingers inside of him and a hand around his dick. 

This is probably the worst idea he'd ever had, displayed so openly where anyone could walk in and see him, but it's too good. He's so hard, and all these thoughts keep forcing their way into his head, and he just really needs to get laid. 

But this will have to do, fingering hard and fast, biting his lip against the pleasure that's shooting through every possible nerve ending in his body. It's hot and slick and messy and perfect. 

"Yes," Dan whispers, crooking his fingers and brushing against his prostate. "Fuck, yes." He spreads his legs even wider, speeds his hand on his cock to match the pace. 

His mouth has dropped open, weak moans and whines escaping his throat with ever push of his fingers, and his hips are tilting up desperately to get them even deeper. 

Phil is gone, hanging out with some friends and he won't be back for a few hours, so this is safe, he won't be seen. Hopefully. 

Dan moans loudly when he presses against his prostate dead on, both hands stuttering and his head falling back against the couch. That's fucking heavenly. He doesn't stop, flicking his wrist on every upstroke against his cock, squeezing the head of it and pushing out pre come as he does, leaking against his hand and lower stomach. 

His thighs tense, jerking as he keeps rubbing the oversensitive bundle of nerves, but it's just there and he's so close, his eyes shut tight and muscles protesting until--

"Fuck, oh fuuuck." He's coming hard, spilling over his fingers and across his stomach and chest. He can't hold back the small groans, still fucking his fingers inside himself and feeling his cock twitch in his hand. 

And afterwards, he lays there, catching his breath and trying to put his mind back together, because it's pathetic, but that's the best orgasm he's had in a month. 

***

This is risky, and also probably highly unsanitary, and now he's just being absurd. But the vibrations of the train are making him antsy and he can't stop his cock from hardening in his jeans. There's no one else on the train, thank fucking god, but he still feels dirty and wretched, pressing the heel of his hand against the hard line of his dick. 

It relieves the pressure only a little bit, and he should stop, but he doesn't. He presses even harder, gritting his teeth as he lifts his hips up towards the contact. That feels unbelievably good. 

He's not gonna take his fucking dick out on this train, but hell if the thought doesn't cross his mind. He's not an exhibitionist, he's not, but it would be crudely sexy, jerking himself off so publicly. He rubs himself faster, closing his eyes and picturing it. 

"Ah," he keens, letting his head fall back as he touches himself, running a finger over the clothed head  of his cock experimentally and gasping at the sharp pleasure of it. 

He hasn't come in his pants since he was eighteen years old and humping anything that would make him orgasm, but he can make an exception, he can if it feels this good. God it feels good. 

The material of his jeans makes it so much better, and he's getting them dirty, leaking pre come in them. His stomach clenches tightly, hips shifting restlessly as he breathes heavier and his mind is a mess and he's coming so hard, the warmth of it spilling down his leg in the dirtiest way imaginable. 

He grips the seat below him for support, trying to focus his vision and calm his racing heart. Lucky he's already on his way home, he doesn't think he could sit much longer in his wet jeans. 

It's saddening.


End file.
